


Filter

by weardodo



Series: Take a Chance [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV Peter Hale, POV Stiles, Secret Crush, drunk!Stiles, mention of other pack members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weardodo/pseuds/weardodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a crush on Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filter

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little in-between fic.. 
> 
> Going through a little rough patch in RL, so this one's to appologize for the long wait on my WIP-update ^^
> 
> I might make a sequal of this one... don't know yet, but the ending kinda screams for a sequal, so... 
> 
> Unbeta'd, etcetc, written way too fast, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> -x-

 

 

It’s all their fault, all of them!

 

He blames Derek and Lydia and Jackson and Allison and Scott and, okay… he doesn’t blame Isaac, nor Erica and Boyd, but still. A lot of people were to blame for this, and it sucked!

 

It sucked so much that a straw would be jealous of how much it sucked. So much sucking going on, a fucking Black Hole would go ‘woah, tone down on the suction man’.

 

And it’s not like he could tell any single one of them how much it sucked, and more importantly _what_ it is exactly that sucked so much, because, hey, he just really _really_ doesn’t want to talk about the object of all the things that sucked right now. He can’t even bare himself to tell Scott.

 

Scott would freak out. _Hell,_ he’s freaking out himself, and he’s the one who actually has to live with this! How the hell did this happen anyway? How in the name of Zeus’ butthole could this’ve ever happened?

 

Peter fucking Hale.

 

He has somehow developed a major crush on Peter fucking Hale.

 

It’s not like he planned it or anything, because ‘hello’, murderous evil zombie-werewolf who has threatened his life and the lives of his friends ánd who’s freaking twice his age (at least!).

 

Jesus Christ, how the hell did this happen?

 

He remembers the exact moment it hit him like it was yesterday - so, okay, it actually was yesterday, but that’s so not the point.

 

He was just sitting at the kitchen-table in Derek’s new apartment, watching Jackson, Scott and Erica banter on the couch over who got to choose the next movie, when his eyes drifted towards Peter – they sometimes just tend to do that, shut up!

 

Peter was sitting in the big leather arm-chair that Derek and Isaac picked up from some second-hand store. He had one ankle propped-up on his thigh and pretended to be reading a book. Stiles could see the way the man was actually watching the play-fight going on on the couch and he could see the  amusement on the man’s face.

 

He was smiling, like genuinely smiling, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare at the man’s smile fully mesmerized. His eyes drifted lower and suddenly he realized what the hell he was doing (again). He jolted back to reality with such force, that he _and_ his chair actually fell backwards and the room went eerily quiet.

 

When he got back up all eyes were on him and he could feel the way his ears starting to burn and his face started to flush.

 

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott had asked with honest concern, and Stiles just smiled – or at least he had tried.

 

“Yeah man, no, I’m good, absolutely peachy, clumsiness is a gift ya know,” he had topped it off with a little theatrical display of his body that said ‘tadaah’, and luckily they’d all left it at that.

 

He did glance over to Peter once before trying to bury his embarrassment into his schoolbooks, but that was clearly a mistake. _Big mistake!_

 

Peter was still looking at him, eying him a little suspiciously and ‘yeah’, Stiles could feel his face flush bright-red again. He was so fucked.

 

He had been checking out Peter Hale and that wasn’t even the worse part of it. He had been checking out Peter Hale on more than one occasion ánd he had _very_ explicit thoughts about the man while doing it. Very explicit _sexy_ thoughts. Very _vivid_ explicit sexy thoughts.

 

So, he did what every normal seventeen year old boy that just _realized_ – okay, ‘finally accepted it for a fact’, but whatever –  he had a crush on a creepy old murderous werewolf would do. He got drunk.

 

He stole one of his dad’s bottles – he probably wouldn’t miss it anyway – and drove out to the preserve to wallow in self-pity. That’s exactly what he needed and that’s exactly what he did. He was going to just lay there on the hood of his car, drink himself a hangover, fall asleep and drive back with said hang-over the next day. It was a perfect plan.

 

Of course nothing in Stiles’ life ever goes as planned, because somehow life hates him.

 

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you it’s dangerous to go out into the woods at night by yourself?”

 

He recognized the voice coming from the side of his car, because of course he did, but he really didn’t feel like getting up or turning his head. He was laying there just fine thank you very much, he didn’t need this shit right now.

 

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you it’s creepy to stalk someone who’s out in the wood by themselves?” he retorted, trying to sound like a wise-ass, but it probably came out like a bit of a drunken slur.

 

“Are you drunk?” Peter suddenly asked – well, he asked rhetorically, because even the biggest drunk in Beacon Hills could hear that Stiles had been drinking, _and_ Peter could probably smell it from a mile away.

 

“No,” he couldn’t help but suddenly giggle – it was a totally manly giggle of course – before taking another big gulp of his bottle of Jack. “Whatever gave you that idea?” He turned his head slightly to look at the older man, even though he knew it would be a mistake.

 

It was funny seeing the man roll his eyes at him from this particular angle, and he snorted at the sight before looking back up at the sky again. _Woah head-rush_.

 

“It’s all your fault anyway…” he mumbled, knowing the man would be able to hear it and also knowing he should really shut up right now, what with his brain-to-mouth filter not functioning _at all_.

 

Alas his intoxicated brain thought otherwise.

 

“…so if you could just do what you do best and leave this fucking planet… or just leave me alone, that would do too… and pretend this little rendezvous never happened, okay? Okay… was truly lovely to see you, even if it was a bit sideways. Bye bye.”

 

Peter let out a sigh and before he knew what was happening a hand grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him from the hood, making him flail a bit when he dropped to his feet and almost toppled over.

 

“Hey!” he yells indignantly, “What the hell, dude?” He was trying to look pissed at Peter – although he probably did look ‘pissed’, but that was not the kind of pissed he was aiming for right now –, but Peter just cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. Okay, so Stiles couldn’t really focus his angry glare and he was literally swaying, leaning against his Jeep to keep from actually plummeting to the ground.

 

Suddenly the last swig he took kicked in and his legs gave way to gravity until he was sitting on the ground against one of the tires. He felt confused, more confused that he initially felt before drinking, but at least now he didn’t really care about feeling like that.

 

“Come on, Stiles,” Peter sighed again while holding out his hand for him to take. He looked at it for a moment as if not registering exactly what the older werewolf meant, before throwing his hand out and aiming for the man’s hand. When his palm contacted with Peter’s at the first try he yelled ‘score’ and giggled again, earning another eye-roll from the man in front of him.

 

+++

 

When he went over to the preserve for a run to clear his head a bit, he didn’t expect to stumble upon a very drunk Stiles, but _voila_ , there he was, and Peter couldn’t find it in his heart to just leave the kid there on his own.  

 

What if he somehow managed to get himself killed? After all, Stiles could survive an Alpha Pack and probably an Apocalypse, but he could just as easily get himself killed in a room filled with pillows. 

 

 _Damn his small speck of morality_. Okay, so maybe it was a little bit more than general morality that made him want to help Stiles. He likes the kid, but he’ll be damned to ever admit _that_ aloud.

 

He got the kid to his feet.

 

Correction, he got the kid to his feet for a few seconds, before he succumbed and fell face flat into his chest, arms hanging loosely around his neck. _How lovely._ Stiles was probably drooling all over his new Henley.

 

“Come on little one, we’ve got to get you home.”

 

“Ngh…nooo….donwanna…can’t…leamelone,” Stiles mumbled incoherently into his shirt.

 

“What do you mean ‘can’t’? Hey, Stiles, come on, stay awake,” He tried to shake the kid a bit, but that wasn’t really one of his brightest ideas, seeing as Stiles’ knees buckled and he literally fell to the floor this time, still mumbling some indistinct sentences with only a few actual understandable words.

 

What he got out of it was something about sleeping at Scott’s and his dad killing him before the kid started to snuggle with the forest-floor and his mumbling gave way to a soft snoring sound. Stiles had fallen asleep.

 

_How absolutely lovely…_

 

He let out an exhausted sigh and rolled his eyes at the sky in fake annoyance before bending over and picking the kid up from the floor. He’s not going to leave him here alone and if he can’t go home, well, he’ll just have to sleep it off on Peter’s couch.    

 

As Peter carried Stiles back to his apartment, he started mumbling into his shoulder. He had hoped the kid would for once in his life be quiet, but alas, no such luck. There goes his nice and quiet evening alone. He couldn’t really make out all of it, but some things were pretty clear.

 

“… ‘s all Peter’s fault… hn… stupid,” Stiles mumbled, and of course this would be all his fault, because Stiles somehow always blamed him for everything that went a little awry in his life. Come to think of it, everybody always blamed him for everything that went wrong.

 

He always wondered if that was something that just automatically came with being resurrected, after all, Jesus also took the blame for all the things mankind fucked up – and they fucked up a lot.

 

 “… and I’m not even supposto like hm,” the kid continued, “…all the slashing and stuff… and more stuff… and the mani – manu – manipo – mindfucking… I loved Lydia, so not cool…”

 

Peter really hoped the kid would fall into a coma or something, because seriously, does this kid never shut up? Luckily it didn’t take long before he was fumbling with his keys and was able to open the door to his apartment.

 

“… he shouldn’t be this hot ‘n sexy, totally not cool either… ‘s unfair to do a whole hocus-pocus not being dead thing ‘n look like tha… unfair… ‘s so unfair” Peter almost tripped over his own feet upon hearing the boy mumble those words into his shoulder, because _what?_

 

He knew Stiles was very drunk and that little fact combined with him being practically asleep ánd the kid’s usual lack of brain-to-mouth filter had probably just made him say things he really didn’t mean, because Peter can’t for the life of him believe that Stiles would think that about _him_.

 

He was probably just mixing things up in his head, maybe he was talking about Derek, that would make so much more sense.

 

“What do you mean?” he couldn’t help but ask as he laid Stiles down on his couch – hey, he’s not going to deny that he’s very curious by nature, and the kid’s mumbling had just become somewhat intriguing.

 

“…whataya mean whatta I mean? Peterrrrr… it’s all ‘s fault,” Stiles slurs into one of the couch-cushions. Peter was about to ask further while he grabbed a blanket and draped it over the kid’s semi-unconscious body, but Stiles already continued.

 

“… I don’t wanna feel feelings for creeper-wolf, ‘s fucked up…” Peter froze up a little before tucking Stiles in a bit, running his hand through the kid’s hair while shaking his head.

 

This definitely explained why Stiles had been staring at him randomly lately. He just figured it was some sort of death-glare, that the kid was trying to shoot daggers or was trying to see if he could kill Peter if he just stared intently enough.

 

Never in a million years would he have guessed that Stiles liked him like _that._ This was definitely a strange turn of events. Especially since it had been Peter himself who had been throwing innuendoes the kid’s way, or standing just that little bit closer to get a rise out of him.

 

It always worked really well.

 

_And now he knows why._

 

Oh well, Stiles is most likely not even going to remember anything in the morning anyway, and that’s probably for the best. He was just a hormone-filled teenager with a crush on an older guy, it happens. There’s a thin line between love and hate. He’ll get over it soon enough.

 

It’s not like Peter _can_ do anything about it, _even if he wanted to._

 

“I like you too, little one,” he confesses in a soft whisper before walking towards the hallway.

 

It suddenly dawned to him that the kid is definitely going to freak out when he realizes where he is, and that thought alone made Peter snort before turning off the light and going to bed.

 

He lies awake listening to the soothing sound of Stiles’ steady heartbeat and breathing for most of the night until he finally falls asleep around four in the morning.

 

+++

 

As he tries to turn around he almost falls off the couch. _He’s on a couch?_ He suddenly jolts awake, holding the thin blanket in front of his chest as if it would somehow protect him from possible evil.

 

Where the hell is he? He knows that he definitely drank too much last night, but if he remembers correctly, last he checked he was in the preserve, and not in someone’s living-room. His head is throbbing and his mouth feels like a Sahara where some rodent died and decided to decompose.

 

Suddenly he remembers little bits and pieces from the night before, and he’s on his feet within seconds, trying to find his shoes.

 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” he mutters quietly as he dances on one foot to put on his sneakers.

 

_Peter._

 

He remembers the older werewolf being with him last night, just before his memory becomes one big blur of flashes of light and nothing. That definitely doesn’t bode well.

 

He must’ve somehow ended up in Peter’s apartment, and he needs to get the hell out of dodge before the man wakes up and things will get really awkward. He has no idea how exactly he got there or what he might’ve said to the man – he knows his own lack of brain-to-mouth filter, especially when intoxicated – , but he’s just glad he’s still wearing his clothes.

 

It takes him exactly two minutes to stumble out of the front door, head still feeling like someone used it as a basketball and occasionally hopping to get one of his heels properly into his shoe.

 

Luckily he knows this part of town and it’s not that ridiculously far from the preserve, so it only takes him an hour to get his Jeep and drive home.

 

He just missed his dad going to work (thank god!), so he had a whole day to nurse his hangover back to health and damn himself for not remembering what exactly happened with Peter.

 

Of course that’s when he gets a message for a pack-meeting at Derek’s apartment that night, one that apparently requires Stiles’ research skills. He would be flattered if he wasn’t feeling so utterly fucked right now. Peter would probably be there too, and he still has no idea what he might’ve done or said to the man.

 

+++

 

Of course Stiles left at the break of dawn, he figured the kid would freak out.

 

Still, the sight of the empty couch with the blanket splayed disorganized on top of it and the smell of whisky and Stiles makes him feel some weird sort of loss, like he’s sad the kid left before breakfast. Which is stupid of course, seeing as he and Stiles don’t owe each-other anything, but still.

 

Somehow Stiles’ admission, how drunk it might’ve been, unleashed something inside of him, something which he can’t quite place.

 

Or maybe it’s just something he doesn’t want to place?

 

He receives a group-text about a pack-meeting and even though he knows he’s not required to be there, the thought of Stiles being there makes him want to go. He wants to see how Stiles will react to him, see if Stiles remembers the things he confessed to him last night.

 

He stands in front of his closet thinking about Stiles. It is rather flattering that the kid thinks he’s sexy, he knows he looks good for his age, but he never imagined a teenager looking at him like that. Especially not someone like Stiles.

 

Last he checked the boy was infatuated by that Martin girl, and seeing as Peter didn’t exactly treat Miss Martin very, um ‘courteous’ in the past, he figured Stiles would rather see him die again instead of see him naked.

 

He lingers on that last thought for a bit before deciding to wear one of his body-hugging v-necks.

 

+++

 

He’s nervous. No, he’s not just nervous, he’s wracking, his nerves are literally wracked.

 

Everybody’s already here, except for Peter. Maybe he decided not to come, maybe Stiles said things to him that made him never want to see his face ever again, maybe he was mean to him, he knows how his snark can peak when under the influence. Although he doesn’t really see Peter as the type of guy who’d actually get offended by insults.

 

Maybe he said something absolutely horribly embarrassing.

 

Oh god, what if he tried to molest the man? Oh fuck, oh Jesus, oh Christ, what if he tried to kiss him or grope him or something equally bad? Peter will never let him live down something like that, he’ll probably torture Stiles with innuendoes until the day he dies. _Fuck._

 

He’s freaking out, but the moment he decides to just throw out some lame excuse about not feeling well so that he can leave, run while he still can, the door flings open and Peter casually strolls in.

 

He tries to avert his eyes, he really does, but the man is wearing this blasphemous tight shirt and even though his head moves away, his eyes can’t seem to stop staring. _Damn._

 

His gaze drifts upwards as if in trance, and the moment he meets Peter’s eyes a sudden rush of panic hits him again. Peter is looking straight at him, smirking, and before the man turns away to walk over to his usual spot in the leather armchair, he winks.

 

He fucking winks at Stiles, and yep, he’s definitely freaking out right now.

 

He uses the rest of the meeting to berate himself in his head and to focus on not focusing on the older werewolf’s presence. It goes pretty well, especially the berating part, and he manages to flee the scene unharmed and without any contact with Peter the moment Derek called the meeting to an end.

 

Until he got home that is.

 

+++

 

Stiles nearly has an outer-body-experience the moment he walks into his room and sees none other than Peter Hale lounging on his bed.

 

“Fucking Jesus Christ, you fucking asshole, you nearly gave me a freakin’ heart-attack you bastard! You are so lucky my dad has a double shift today…”  

 

“So, you’ve been harboring naughty feelings for me,” the man says casually with a smile without even opening his eyes, his hands cushioning his head and his feet crossed at the ankles,

 

Stiles almost trips over his limbs on the spot upon hearing the man’s words, because _what?_

 

“Wha – I – No! Why would you – What gave you that – ,” he stumbles over his own words when suddenly Peter cocks his head towards him and opens his eyes while raising an unimpressed eyebrow. It suddenly dawns to him, and _fuck._

 

“Oh my god,” he whispers with an exhausted sigh while running a hand across his face. “Look, I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was saying, I don’t even know what I said, but it was probably all nonsense anyway, alcohol tends to do that you know, make people a little crazy a telling very stupid very untrue things,” he tries, but Peter’s eyebrow just rises up higher onto his forehead.

 

“Look, can we just pretend yesterday never happened?” he sighs while flinging his backpack next to his desk before taking a seat in his desk-chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Please?”

 

The fact that Peter had come to his room to let him know that he knows doesn’t bode well, and he really doesn’t need any mockery right now.

 

“Now why would I want to do that?” the older werewolf suddenly whispers into his ear, startling Stiles so much that he flails and almost falls from his chair.

 

How the hell did he get there so fast without making a sound? Oh yeah, that’s right, ‘werewolf’.

 

“Fucking hell, djeez, warn a guy will ya!” Stiles says nervously while rolling his desk-chair around to face the man – after all, everything’s fucked up now anyway, so why not face the demons head on?

 

Peter just watches him, his head slightly cocked to the side and his eyes narrowing a bit in a calculated way. It’s making Stiles so nervous he starts to rock his chair from side to side while fidgeting and looking at his hands.

 

“Look, Peter, I’m really sorry for yesterday, I – ”

 

Before he even knows what’s happening a hand grabs his wrist and he’s yanked to his feet and pulled flush to Peter’s body, the man cupping his cheek and planting his mouth to his.

 

The kiss startles him, but Peter’s lips are soft and gentle. He feels how his whole body starts to shiver and how the older werewolf releases his wrist only to place a hand on Stiles’ lower back, keeping him upright and against his furnace-like body, keeping him from falling down in a jello-y mush.

 

“Oh my god,” he whispers with a ragged voice into the man’s mouth just before Peter pulls away.

 

Peter looks at him with serious lustfilled eyes before a smile tugs up in the corner of his mouth and he gently lowers Stiles back into his chair.

 

“You know where I live,” the older man says with a smirk while walking towards the window and disappearing into the night.

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles whispers to the empty room while absentmindedly running two fingers across his swollen lips.

 


End file.
